The Dress Looks Nice on You
by VietAngel
Summary: The moments between Amy and Josh that didn't get shown during "Dead Irish Writers" Amy/Josh


**Title:** The Dress Looks Nice on You  
**Pairing:** Josh/Amy  
**Rating:** T  
**Summary:** My take on what wasn't shown during the "Dead Irish Writers" episode.

**Author's Note:** Amy Gardner was one of my absolute favorite West Wing characters, so I thought I'd try my hand at a little Josh and Amy and here is the result. If you're not an Amy fan or Amy/Josh fan, you should probably turn around right here.

**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

You were supposed to arrive at the party together, but she got hung up at work at usual. Some wronging of women had gotten her blood boiling and she couldn't even think about enjoying herself until it was right again, or at least reasonably progressing toward being righted. So when she called and said not to bother picking her up because she would be in the office a while longer you weren't upset. Politics doesn't stop just because it's Saturday, and it was classic Amelia Gardner behavior after all. Her passion for trying to make the world a better place is one of the many things you love about her and you were amused by the fact that not even the First Lady of the United States' birthday party could stop her.

You could tell she had finally made it to the party by the way the world suddenly seemed to stop and hold its breath. Her presence always seemed to crackle through the air, setting it ablaze like the fire within her just couldn't be contained. A beat—she steps through the entryway and your eyes meet—then the world starts to move and breathe again. Thirty minutes late, but she's here. She meets you halfway and you give her a quick peck on the lips. Respectable, brief, nothing that would draw attention. You want more, but your jobs require discretion and subtlety. You head over together to greet the birthday girl and she seems genuinely happy to see you both, but especially Amy. You still think it's weird that Abbey Bartlet babysat her when she was a child. You can only imagine how precocious a young Amy would have been.

You wrap an arm around her waist just as Abbey mentions that she's responsible for your relationship. You both avoid that statement like it's laced with bubonic plague. It's still early on and neither of you want to jinx it…don't want it to be over before it has really started. You know you love her already, that's for sure, and you're fairly certain she feels the same way. John Marbury approaches, loud and inappropriate as always so you and Amy take the opportunity to exit.

You lead her the short distance to your table with a hand at the small of her back. For the first time tonight you really get a good look at her. She has always been beautiful, but she is absolutely stunning in her gown. You don't know if it's her radiant smile or the contrast in the fabric of her gown, but something seems to make her porcelain skin glow. You resist the urge to reach out and run the back of your hand down her arm by volunteering to go get food for the two of you.

When you return you ask her about her day as you both tuck into your plates. You should be listening more intently, but you're too busy staring at her lips. You really, really like watching her mouth move. You eat, you dance, you eat some more, and the night is going great until Chuck Kane comes along with his vague mentions of "the thing." She jokes about the two of you planning to pull a heist and her knowledge of 1920s gangster slang is intriguing. You're forced to tell her about the Deputy Political Director position and who you're considering. You pull her to the dance floor hoping to distract her, but she's too sharp for that. As expected, she tell you you're not hiring enough women. You don't want to talk about this. You're having a great night and you want to keep it that way. You tell her you can't make decisions based on the fact that you like her smooth skin, and you're telling the truth. If you could make decisions based on that she'd get everything she ever wanted. She decides to drop the subject and it frightens you a bit. Amy never drops a subject she's passionate about. When she asks about Donna you chalk her eagerness to drop the subject up to her being tired. She's had a long day already.

What you don't expect is to hear about it from the First Lady. Barely 30 minutes pass before Abbey Bartlet is standing there with a list spitting Amy's words back at you. You can't believe she went over your head like this—you've never been so furious. You go off to find her immediately and confront her with the list. She asks you if you love her and you want so desperately to tell her yes, but you're furious that she went over your head and behind your back so you ignore the question. Before you can even talk about it she's being dragged off to go get boozy with C.J. and the First Lady. By the time you see her again she's tipsy and you're both tired. You tell her you forgive her and you know those are the wrong words to say as they're leaving your lips, but you can't stop them. She's about to tear into you when Abbey stops her—she calls you a jackass anyway.

She's quiet on the ride home…too quiet. You apologize for what you said even though you don't really think you're wrong. Your word choice was bad, but you still don't appreciate her going over your head. You were doing your job. You must have said that part out loud because she tells you she was just doing hers too—says you can't get mad at her every time something like this happens because sometimes your jobs are going to put you at odds, but she loves you even when she doesn't love what you do. You feel like you can show her how much you love her better than you can tell her, so you kiss her and kiss her and kiss her until the limo driver has to knock on the window to let you know you've reached your destination.

As amazing as the prospect of sex seems when you finally make it to her bedroom, you both realize you're too exhausted for it. You unzip her gown and expertly unhook her bra with one hand while she kicks out of her shoes. She lets both drop to the floor and crawls into bed in just her panties. She's watching you from under the covers with sleepy eyes as you get out of your tux and drape it neatly across her chair. You rescue her gown from the floor and drape it across the chair too. It looks really nice on her and you don't want to see it ruined. You finally crawl into bed and pull her body tightly against yours—bid her goodnight with a kiss on her forehead even though it's now early morning. A kiss on her forehead leads to kissing her lips, then a touch, and the next thing you know you're over her and inside her and she's breathing heavily beneath you.

It only takes you a second to register that you're not wearing a condom and there's a hint of college irresponsibility in the air. Then you remember that you're adults now. You have both been tested for every possible STD, she's on birth control, you're both responsible and you've discussed this possibility—it's fine. It only takes her a few minutes to come and her best ideas always seem to come when she does. A rule about the bedroom being a no-politics zone spills off her lips and you couldn't agree more. A few more thrusts and you're tumbling after her. You roll your weight off of her and flop back on the bed. You pull her close again and she rests her head on your chest as you pull the covers up around her shoulders. You let your fingers dance along the thigh she has draped across your waist, then you both drift off to sleep warm and satisfied.

She wakes with an adorable case of bedhead and a hangover. Neither of you has to work on Sunday for once, so after her headache's gone and she can keep down badly burnt toast and coffee, you take advantage of the rare opportunity and spend the entire day alternating between making love and watching movies. Night falls again and you're hesitant to say goodbye, but tomorrow is Monday morning and duty calls for the both of you. As you walk home you're sure people are staring at you. You don't blame them really, what else are people supposed to do when you're walking around with such a goofy smile on your face? You think about how good she looked in that dress until the bill on your desk in the morning makes you think about something else.

**Fin.**


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